A New Hair Style
by FikFik747
Summary: Just a short little one shot between Gemma and Kartik.


Here's a little oneshot I made. Please review.

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Kartik bowed his head in shame. How could this have happened to him? Where had he gone wrong? All of the loose ends had been tied up, all of the back doors had been sealed, or so he had thought. He believed himself to be a competent member of society. A competent member of the Rakshanna, but that theory had been proved wrong tonight.

Kartik knew how to pickpocket, how to unlock locks, how to slip by in a crowd, how to disappear, how to sneak by silently, how to get information, how to create plans, use strategies, but he didn't know a woman's mind. He didn't realize how cunning, clever, and … tortuous a woman could be. How they could twist words and thoughts, how they could cut him off with a mere word or expression. He didn't understand how they could make him care, when, for so many years, he had cut himself off from them.

"Please, Miss Doyle, inform me as to why you must do this," Kartik asked as politely as he could through his worn patience. Gemma Doyle found ways to deplete him of patience faster than anyone he had met before. She resembled a vampire in that manner, yet she was far too unpredictable, for one minute she portrayed a blood-sucking monster, and the next, she could find her way past Kartik's well-thought out barriers like some great military mind. The latter of Miss Doyle's two sides was what had angered Kartik.

Gemma smiled with a scarcely hidden wicked edge, "Please, Mr. Kartik, inform me as to why you must be asking me," she shot back in her English voice that had seduced Kartik into believing he would be safe. She pushed another pin into Kartik's thick, curly hair, though for every curl she managed to control, several more sprang up without any warning, and her own patience was beginning to wear thin. The hydra of hair lived on Kartik's head, and if Gemma was to fulfill her threat, she had to overcome that obstacle.

She grabbed a half dozen hair pins from the little table she had placed into the long-abandoned barn that she and Kartik had met in, not long over an hour ago. The Indian boy had arrived in the vacant wood structure with an mood of confidence; he had believed that he would be leaving the barn within a half hour, along with the privilege of not being accused of sneaking anywhere when he left Gemma a message, or met up with her - in Gemma's point of view - of the blue .

But the girl had boxed Kartik in, leaving no escape for him. He still did not remember exactly how he was corned into a nearly-broken chair to have his thick locks maneuvered into a "fashionable women's style" by Gemma. If the Rakshanna could have seen him now: one of their own members _having his hair done_ by a powerful member of the Order. That was not irony; that was eternal shame, embarrassment, torture.

"I am nearly done," Gemma informed him with happiness threaded through her voice. She wore a smile that Kartik could not, and did not wish, to see. She pinned three more curls to Kartik's – which she believed to be too large – head. "And now for the finishing touch," she said in admiration of herself. She stuck a hand into the large bag she had brought with her and pulled a small box out, leaving Kartik unattended as he touched his carefully pinned hair.

Gemma swatted at his hand, "Don't touch!" she called, "You're going to mess up my hard work." She gave the back of Kartik's head a long glare before proceeding to open the little box. Her fingers wrapped around a slender, gold chain and pulled the necklace out of the box, taking both ends in her hands.

"What are you doing?" Kartik's voice portrayed his impatience and embarrassment, yet also gave way a tinge of curiosity as to what new torture Gemma had planned next for him. Gemma did not answer, instead she pulled the little choker necklace around Kartik's unsuspecting neck, locking it shut.

All curiosity that Kartik had, and he assured himself that it was nearly non-existent, left him in an instant, replaced by piled on shame, locked inside him just like the necklace round his neck. "Why have you done this?" he nearly shouted with his hands clenched, nails burying into skin.

Gemma ignored him and grabbed a hand-held mirror; she walked around where he sat in his chair, surveying him carefully, a smile pulling at her lips. Kartik refused to look up and meet her eyes while his cheeks burned with a red blush. Fearful that she would burst out laughing, Gemma wordlessly handed the little mirror to Kartik.

He brought the mirror up to his face so terribly slow that Gemma thought he might have lost use of his arms. Far too soon for Kartik, though, he caught sight of his hair, pinned mercilessly into the latest fashion he had seen all over England among the middle and upper-class women. A blush came with another onslaught to Kartik's face as he heard Gemma's laughter bubbling out from her lips.

"So, how do you like it?" the girl inquired as soon as she was able to overcome her laughing fit, though her hands were still wrapped around her hurting midsection, jumping slightly with each new giggle of seeing Kartik and his hair.

Kartik glared at her and bowed his head in shame, "So, when can I do your hair?" he asked darkly, although the slight pulling up at the ends of his lips betrayed his true feelings.


End file.
